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In the quiet duty room.
Shen Yi clumsily gripped the brush, and though he was not skilled in calligraphy, he still tried his best to make each character more legible.
When he was still a troublemaker, keen to don the robes of the yamen, he had been a diligent student—practicing martial arts, social customs, including reading and writing.
With muscle memory, his handwriting wasn't pretty, but it was passable.
The Blood Fiend Blade Technique had been deduced from the slate, and all its details were engraved into his mind, making transcription not difficult.
When it was time to leave the office.
Shen Yi stopped writing and let the ink dry before reaching for the meal that Chen Ji had brought.
Yellow flour buns from Huang Ji's East Street, plus salted fish hawked by street vendors, didn't make for a delicacy, but they were quite filling.
After gobbling down the food, he stood up to stretch his body and stepped through the door.
